Best laid plans...

At last, we had a plan.

It had been unusually vexing to come up with one this time.

Pros and cons littered every scenario...

it felt like weaving though the jagged coral heads lurking under our boat in the beautiful lagoons we visit.

We do our best to spot these potential dangers, in the shifting light, concentrating, focused on keeping a steady and safe course but every once in awhile, there's a near miss...

and you think 'what if...?"

Long hours were spent pouring over charts, calculating routes and risks, looking at weather gribs and pilot charts.

Our visas would expire in two days.

We had to go-somewhere.

I woke up before dawn and had a long sit on deck in the pale blue light.

Despite my idyllic surroundings, there was something off,

a 'feeling" in my stomach, I couldn't explain. 

For the first time in months, I just wasn't sure.

There's lots of times, when i'm scared or nervous or have the butterflies, especially when we are embarking on something new but the "heart in mouth" stuff, always seems to be balanced by this (totally unfounded) sense of purpose.

Once Jon and I make up our minds to do something, we whole heartedly commit to it.

Idiotic or outrageous as our ideas may be-we're in.

I wasn't feeling that this time.

I jumped in the water and swam around under the boat.

It was clear and beautiful, though all the coral was dead and I hardly saw any fish.

The ones I did see, sulked under rocks and peered suspiciously at me, with haunted, morose little eyes...broken souls hiding in grim alleys.

( okay, so I have a teeny-tiny, tendency towards anthropomorphic thought)

Jon was standing on deck, drinking coffee when I came out of the water.

He handed me the solar shower, which I clipped to its spot on our spreader.

"ready to get out of here?" he asked, as I rinsed my entire body in two tablespoons of fresh water.

(a skill learned living on a boat with no water maker)

I found my designated towel and dried my hair.

A shining, golden-peach sun rose from behind impossibly green mountains and spilled warmth onto our deck.

Surrounded by paradise and i was flooded with  anxiety.

Had we made the "right" choice?

Was our plan, the "one"?

"Sure..." I said, trying to sound convinced.

We sat there staring at the water in silence.

" I feel weird." I said, finally.

"Yeah, me too..." agreed Jon.

But neither of us could put a finger on why.

An hour later, Jon was plotting our course, as we motorsailed away from Moorea.

"Bye Moorea!" we Namaste'd the beautiful island, as she slipped into memory.

The wind was light, so we kept the engine on as we wanted to make it around the Southern tip of Tahiti before night fall-after that, we would shape our course for our next destination. 

I went below decks to secure things, the swell from the South was bigger than expected and our choc-a-bloc, packed boat, was rolling with stray oranges and pamplemousse.

Below deck, I was hit with the creeping feeling again. 

Sometimes, I get the jitters just before a passage -but this felt different. It was like someone was whispering in my head, only, I couldn't quite make out the words.

Up top, life couldn't have been more beautiful and perfect.

Kids reading in the cockpit, Jon at the helm.

We made our way through the tossing channel, with Tahiti to port, thundering surf surging over the fringing reef, plumes of mist rising from the violent chaos.

Another stunning day, in the South Pacific...

and yet I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off..

I willed myself let go of the worries and went below to make lunch.

Giant avocados, stuffed with fresh green salad, mana from heaven, for us long distance cruisers. 

"I'm going to go lie down for awhile" I said, while washing the dishes in sea water and and wiping them with a cloth rinsed in fresh water to take away the taste of left over salt.

"You okay?" Jon cocked an eyebrow at me.

"Fine. Just tired..."

I crawled into our bunk but couldn't sleep.

I stared at the hatch above me, a perfect square of sky blue.

I tried to analyze my emotions.

We had made thoughtful plans, using our heads and our hearts to determine our new course,

but i was still ill at ease.

I couldn't help feeling like we had missed something.

Suddenly, I heard a peculiar, "whooshing" sound.

It sounded like it came from the prop spinning under the boat. 

I detected a slight change, in Perkie's familiar, clunking rhythm.

I sat there for a few seconds, wondering if my bad vibes had gotten the best of me, and now I was imagining things, but one thing we have learned on this trip, is that instinct is a  useful tool, especially at sea.

Jon is Captain and fortunately, his brain ( though not his heart), is governed by logic.

He is master of all things  planned, numbered, wired, processed, formatted, calculated, measured, engineered and evaluated. 

Whereas, my brain is controlled by the moon and the color fuchsia.

Right now, my "instinct", was definitely on high alert.

I went up top and reported to our Captain, what I heard and what I was feeling.

Jon went below. 

I took the helm. 

He was down for a very long time.

I put Kai on watch and went to see what was up.

Jon was standing in our room listening to the engine.

It was subtle but something, was off.

"That doesn't sound right' he said,

a panel on our floor was open, revealing our prop shaft packing nut,

"It's really hot..." he said, holding his hand on it.

We slowed down and turned off the engine.

Jon ran a bunch of tests, each one taking longer than the last as he trouble shot the situation.

He came up top, where we all waited, wringing our hands and trying to stay calm.

Anytime one is headed out to sea, for a voyage of several days, and sun is going down on that first night out, there is always a LITTLE trepidation...having an engine issue, was definitely heightening the thrill.

'Well...I'm not sure what's up" was the word from the Man.

(this is Captain speak, for "Sh*^t...Piss...F@$k")

We reviewed the noise i had heard and agreed that something might have gotten snared on our prop and worked its way up the shaft and that what was causing the issue.

"I should check the cutlass bearing' muttered Jon, as he looked over the side.

 (this involves diving under the boat)

We were outside the reef and the sun was going down.

"You won't see anything, in this light" I offered,

secretly, keeping my fingers crossed that he wouldn't jump over board in the swell and the dark.

Jon looked at the chart. 

We were only a few miles away from Port Phaeton...

The best plan was to limp through the pass in the reef, 

anchor in the safe harbor and dive the boat in the morning to asses the extent of our problem. 

There was no wind and the engine wasn't sounding too terribly bad, so we kept in on a low RPM and forged on, towards the reef entrance.

( while also hoping the customs boat wouldn't be lurking  there, as we had now also officially checked out and would be breaking the law if we got caught anchoring anywhere in French Polynesia!) 

We headed for the pass entrance, four miles away, the light was fading but we couldn't push the boat.  

No one wants to enter a see pass at night if they can help it, and this one wasn't lit for night.

Things were starting to get a little hairy.

The breakers were HUGE from the swell and they thundered and exploded off our port and starboard side as we headed towards the narrow entrance of the pass.

Jon had everything under control and was cool as ever,

but my heart was racing.

There was nothing I could do on deck, so I decided to go below and clean the boat. 

This is my "go to"  thing, when I get nervous.

Tidy=everything will be fine.

Nothing bad can happen, because I'm a good person-because i make my bed!

This is how a brain governed by fuchsia works.

Either that, or its from being raised by a Scottish mother who always made sure you brushed your teeth and had clean knickers on when you left the house to play-in case you were in an accident,  the ambulance people would know you came from a "good home".

I straightened our sheets and fluffed the pillows while cooing soothing words to ol' Perkie and Pura Vida.

The hatch to the transmission compartment was open and I could see our prop-shaft spinning.

I sure don't know everything in the world about engines, so sometimes when I look at all those ancient, greasy, crusty, parts, spinning and turning and realize how much our lives depend on these grody old nuts and bolts -I feel dizzy.

Which is exactly how I was feeling...

when the part I was looking at exploded into mass of rusted chaos.

The engine stopped dead.

I was on deck in a flash.

Everything suddenly got very surreal as Time bent and warped around our impending calamity.

The beautiful sunset, the boat absolutely silent, except for the sound of the sails slatting, the explosive, crashing  breakers pummeling the reef next to us...

Jon was sitting behind the wheel like  a statue;

hands raised,  frozen in a dramatic flourish, eyes fixed on the wheel, with an affronted, puzzled, expression-

like a magician, who'd intended to pull a rabbit of a hat but found he was holding a lobster, instead.

Shock had immobilized his body... he was in a state of, adrenaline-forced calm, his big brain whirling a million miles an hour, trying figure out what had just happened to us.

"The thingy exploded" I whimpered, not at all helpfully and with a specificity typical of me.

Jon was up and below, so fast, I didn't even see him move.

Reality snapped back in a furious rush of images, like an old film reel, free-spinning on its projector.

I grabbed the binoculars and looked towards the crashing reef.

Giant, rolling, ocean swells were gently but insistently pushing us closer and closer to it.

"It's okay... I said to the kids, rising panic made my voice a whisper. 

I hated that I sounded child-like and scared.

"get it together, Kaiser..." I told myself, 

noting, Hunter watching me, her blue eyes growing rounder and wider by the second.

"Im scared, mommy" she said, flooding up with tears.

This is the worst feeling ever.

The absolute, most awful, worst, worst, worst, thing you ever feel as a parent.

A situation is happening, beyond your control and your kids are in jeopardy.

( or your afraid they might be)

This is when you break out the "super-suit" and become the hero of your own movie.

I knew for a fact, Jon was  below, already in his suit, trying to keep his big red cape out of whatever dilemma he was facing down there-so I sure-as-Shirley, better buck up and do the same.

Be cool..." I told myself,

Your a professional actress...."act damnitt...ACT!"

"Sweetie, don't worry..." I patted her leg, reassuring us, even though my mouth had gone completely dry.

Kai backed me up, heroic big brother that he is.

"Don't worry, Hunter, Dad has it under control...right mom?".

Jon came up top.

"the prop shaft is separated from the transmission-we're dead in the water".

This is not a good situation.

However, on a sailboat it is is not so bad because you can just sail...if this happened in the middle of the ocean, it would be inconvenient- but not life threatening. 

What you DO need, is wind,

which we did not have, at that moment.

What we had, was a reef, 1/2 of a mile away and a current and swell pushing us closer to it, by the second.

Things started to get a little chaotic.

I wanted to get on the radio and alert someone to our situation, right away...

Jon wanted to have a minute to think things through and figure out a self sufficient way of dealing with it.

( the age old, stereotypical, male/female conflict of "asking for directions"-only with higher stakes)

We argued for a few non-constructive minutes before I finally realized I was totally out of line-he's the captain-this is  why there is a pecking order and i needed to just be quiet (obey) and let him think.

Which, fortunately, Jon is really good at.

He had Kai help in lowering the dingy into the water and get the engine on it, so we had some means of pushing the boat.

We had never actually tried to do this, before and weren't sure how effective it would be.

We only have a little 6 hp outboard and in the big ocean swell we weren't so sure if she could even move PV but it was the only option we had, if that reef got any closer...

I tried to hail someone on channel 16.

We are in French Polynesia and I speak baby French when it comes to conversation and ordering or shopping but I do not know a single phrase having to do with marine communications. 

"Any vessel in Port Phaeton, come back to SV Pura Vida..."  I said in English.

No answer.

Jon came and took the mic.

'Any vessel in Port phaeton, this is SV Pura Vida...come back?"

"say we lost power and we're drifting to the reef..." I croaked.

I felt like i was made out of putty, 

I had to sit on my hands, to keep the kids from seeing them shaking.

"Radio check, radio check...anyone copy SV Pura Vida, over?"

A young voice came though the speaker,

"This is SV Macha, we hear you loud and clear, Pura Vida"

"Hey, Macha, can you go one-seven'

"one-seven"

Jon switched channels.

"Hello?" said the young voice.

"Good evening" says our Captain, keeping his cool,

"...we seem to have a bit of a problem, we're currently dead in the water and are outside the pass about a quarter mile..."

Jon gave our exact position in Lat and Long.

I spotted a panga in the distance,

I ran to the bow and climbed onto the bowsprit and waved my arms, like an absolute lunatic.

After what seemed like forever, the little boat finally started to turn towards us.

Oh, thank god.

While Jon talked over our situation with Macha ( a catamaran that was busy entering the pass ahead of us, also trying to beat the failing light), I tried to communicate to the two French fisherman, what our situation was.

They were not comfortable towing us though the pass, as it was getting dark.

Ahhhh, yes....the French.

I gestured at the reef and tried to explain that we couldn't sail away from it and we needed a tow,

My limited French had completely escaped me and I wasn't sure what i was managing to express but the next thing I knew, they were racing AWAY from us.

I ran back to Jon at the helm.

"Where are they going?", asked Jon.

"Um...I think they went to talk to that Navy ship out there..."

There was a massive, warship making its way around the end of the island.

"what did Macha say?" 

"They can't tow us in but they will stand by and they have a sat phone, they'll try and get ahold of the marina and see what they can do".

The reef was a still a 1/4 of mile from us.

That might not seem that close to you at home but it was scaring the pants off me, looking at it.

We had no wind, no power, no one was around and night coming down on us...

Wow, was I missing the good ol' Coast Guard, right about then.

We pushed out our sails, as far as we could and hoped.

I know, I like to give non-human things, human characteristics, but I swear, 

Pura Vida did everything she could to catch any wisp of breeze and get us and herself way from that reef. 

There have been plenty of times when we have sat dead still or going backwards in less wind with a more favorable current than we had at that moment...

Magical thinking or not, 

we started moving in the right direction.

The French fisherman came back to tell us that the French Navy was standing by for us on 16 and and we had a nice discussion with the huge Warship, who offered assistance if we needed it and Mancha got a hold of the marina and relayed our distress to the marina guy ( who had just put a brand new engine on his boat and wasn't comfortable towing us through the channel-not wanting to screw up breaking in his engine-at night).

But we had it under control. 

We were making about 1,2 knots by now in 4 knots of breeze and put a comfy, three miles between us and that reef.

Jon was confident we could keep off shore for the night and try and make the pass in the morning. 

Macha arranged with the guy from the Marina and said they would come out with him int he morning to make sure we could get in okay, and if we needed help, they would be standing by on 16.

Nice to know.

Breathing again. Blood flowing through the extremities...

Jon and I had a big fat kiss and he held me for a long time.

I went below and poured a glass of wine to settle the last of my nerves.

We watched a spectacular sunset ,the sea was unbelievably gentle, even if the swells were up, they were well spaced and liquid smooth.

Here we were, with a broken engine, plans in complete disarray, mountains of paper work,  getting an extension on our visa BS and of course, the financial absess and mechanical havoc that we were bound to endure, once Jon sorted out the extent of our mechanical problems...

I was happy.

Jon felt it, too.

The rest of the night, we spent tacking and gybing back and forth. Jon plotted a way point on our charts that would ensure we never got too close to the reefs but were also not too far away to make the pass entrance at the first slack tide of the day.

It was actually fun, sailing Pura Vida in the light winds, with a specific mark to reach at a certain time-it called into play, skills learned while sailing dingies as a kid and the whole night felt like an enjoyable but epically slow, race.

We managed to hit our mark right on the dot, at first light.

Jon side-tied the dingy to the big boat on her starboard quarter,  and to our surprise, once we had it up to speed, we could tow Pura Vida at almost 3 knots.

Best of all, we had steerage under power again.

Jon was confident we could make it though the pass on our own, towing ourselves but I talked him into calling on the support of the marina guy's boat, just in case we got into trouble. 

It was left over nerves on my part, because we got though totally fine by ourselves.

(although, once we were through, I was happy to accept a tow up to the anchorage all the same!)

Carolyn (the nice lady from Macha and the mother of the young voice on the radio) also came out with the marina guy, and had her handheld VHF with her, so we were well supported on all sides if anything were to happen-which it didn't.

All of these events were new experiences for us,

and we learned a lot in a very short time, like you do, whenever something goes wrong.

Jon's a big believer in self sufficiency, and that having confidence in your own abilities to problem solve, actually helps you deal with scenarios in the safest possible way.

I think thats true and totally great.

It's why I love him and can be out here doing this...

Because, me?  

My tendency is to want to pick up the phone and yell for help when something goes wrong.

( even more so if the kids are involved)

But I hope i'm learning to approach things in new ways,

on this adventure, and every time we go through one of these events and come out the other side-

I realize how much we are capable of.

(especially if your boat is actually magical and loves you :) )

An hour later, we were snugged up on a mooring just off the boat yard in Port Phaeton,

eating omlettes and ready to take a much needed nap.

After everything that went down, despite all the grief that lay ahead, there was calm.

How do you explain a couple of cruisers who have no money, and who just spent the night  drifting aimlessly outside a reef with no power- feeling content?

Are we totally insane?

( certainly an argument could be made, there)

The only thing I can say about it is, when you let go,

and I mean, REALLY let go...

I think you can actually feel, the subtle universe shaping your reality, and it might be possible, that feelings, intuitions and daydreams are as good a way to plan for your future,

as, say, 401K's and college funds...

Maybe I believe this is because I also think fish have senses of humor and I feel the sadness of turtles,

or because I was taught ( along with the importance of making my bed and having clean skivvies) that

God or whatever you want to call the unnamable, shimmering Chi that balances this little patch of galaxy,

has a way of sweeping each of us into it's stream.

Maybe we are not in control-

as much as we like to think we are,

and no matter how much we sweat and strain to come up with the perfect plan...

It's what you make of each moment, that counts.

The dink side tied and pushing PV while Jon steers...we luck out because the morning is perfect, calm 

Nerves through the pass...

Getting a tow up to the anchorage, after the pass

This what Jon will be rebuilding for the next few weeks...

and this...

sheared bolts-never a good sign

Poor, Pura Vida...

The first of many days of ordering parts...

The kindness of strangers...
Carolyn and Tony from Macha, give Jon a ride to town in their rental car...
(Port Phaeton is two hour bus ride from Papeete, where all the parts and paper work gets done)